The Thought Readers (Mind Dimensions #1)(41)

The Beemer we just cut off ended up getting rear-ended by an old station wagon. I feel a mixture of guilt and glee. Though no one is visibly hurt, the accident is my fault. On the flip side, however, this might actually slow down our pursuers.

I push the gas and turn the wheel to the right, getting off Avenue Y as Eugene recommended.

“I can’t believe we made it,” he says. “Now we need to go a roundabout way, and Split to check on our tail.”

On Avenue Z, I turn again, and we reach Ocean Avenue uneventfully. The only issue is that we’re unable to find our pursuers in the Quiet. At least, not by looking a few blocks behind. We take it as a good sign. We must have lost them.

“Now drive to Emmons Avenue and turn left,” Eugene says. “You can’t miss it.”

He’s right. I’m soon faced with the choice of either driving into some kind of canal or turning.

“It’s not that far now,” he says as we drive a few blocks down Emmons, following the water. I’m glad we’re not being pursued at this point; this area is full of traffic.

“Make a left at that light,” Eugene tells me. “We’re almost there.”

Before I get a chance to actually turn, however, the passenger-side mirror explodes.





Chapter 17


I phase in, and the noise of the busy street stops. I pull Eugene in with me. As we exit the car, we start looking around.

“Darren, look at this,” Eugene says. He sounds more scared than I’ve heard him since we started this whole mess.

He stands a few feet to the right of the car and points at something in the air. When I take a closer look, my heartbeat spikes. It’s a bullet. A bullet frozen in its path. A bullet that just missed the car. The sibling of the one that must have shattered that mirror.

“Someone’s shooting at us,” I say stupidly.

Eugene mumbles something incomprehensible in response.

Coming out of our shock, we frantically search the cars behind us. It doesn’t take long to find the source of the bullets. Not surprisingly, it’s our new friends.

How did they manage to get this close? How could I be so stupid—why hadn’t I checked on them for so long? Why was I so convinced we’d lost them?

“Eugene, we need to get to wherever it is we’re going. And we need to do it fast,” I say.

“It’s very close. If we turn now, we’ll almost be there. Just a few more blocks.”

“It might as well be miles if they shoot us.”

I’ve never been shot at before, and I hate the feeling. I’m not ready to get shot. I haven’t seen enough, done enough. I have my whole life ahead of me—plus all that extra time in the Quiet.

“Darren, snap out of it.” I hear Eugene’s voice. “Let’s see if we can make this left turn.”

Assessing the situation, we quickly realize that our chances of making this turn unscathed are very small. A Jaguar is coming toward us on the opposite side, driving at thirty-five miles per hour—and we’ll likely crash into it if we take a sharp left turn. Still, we don’t overthink it. A car crash with a seatbelt and an airbag beats getting shot. I think.

I walk to the car, take a calming breath, and phase out. As I’m pulling the wheel all the way to the left, I try my best not to phase into the Quiet out of fear.

With a loud screeching noise, my side of the car touches the Jaguar’s bumper. The impact knocks the wind out of me, but the seatbelt holds me, and the airbag doesn’t activate. Happy to have made it this far, I slam the gas pedal harder. The car makes all sorts of unhappy sounds, but at least we made it through that deadly looking turn relatively unscathed.

When we’re midway through the block, I phase in and get Eugene to join me.

We look at our handiwork back at the beginning of the street. As a result of our crazy turn, the Jaguar hit the Camry in front of it. Its bumper is gone, and the once-beautiful car is pretty much totaled. I think the guy inside will have to be hospitalized—which I feel terrible about. Furthermore, the entire intersection is jammed with cars. Unless they plan to go through them, our trigger-happy friends can’t pass.

Still, Eugene walks over to Read Sergey’s mind, just in case.

“Darren, I’m such a f*cking idiot,” he says, slapping his hand to his forehead.

“What is it?”

“They know where we’re going. Their boss texted them the address. That’s how they caught up with us. I should’ve realized that if they’re working with a Pusher, he or she would know the location of the Readers’ community. That they would know we’re likely to head that way.”

“It’s too late to blame yourself now,” I tell him. “Let’s just get there.”

“I’m not sure we’ll make it. Sergey plans to ram this car.” He points at the tiny Smart Car that happens to be the smallest of those involved in the jam, and I realize that we have a problem. Our pursuers can go through the blocked intersection after all.

“We already have a little bit of a head start,” I say, trying to summon optimism I don’t feel. “We’ll just have to make it.”

“Okay,” Eugene says. “From here, we can actually walk to our destination on foot before we get back into the real world. This way, you’ll know the exact way there.”